Alhena and Rook nodded, all too familiar with the phenomenon. The remainder of the landing party listened with great interest, unable to comprehend that one person could be responsible for causing so much destruction. Witnessing the destruction first hand, however, they could hardly refute the survivor’s account, nor could they conceal their shock at how little of the population remained. Not even Baron Lychman had survived.
The people were homeless and leaderless. The surviving city guard had taken it upon themselves to look after the mundane details of cooking, organizing salvaging parties, and most importantly, during the day at least, searching the ruins for survivors. They also allocated the grisly task of body disposal—disease from rotting corpses their biggest fear as the days wore on. Wandering trolls and other nocturnal predators entering the city through massive breaches in the town walls kept them pinned within Pantheon Rock after dark.
Hearing the horrifying accounts of the firestorm, it became obvious to Rook and Alhena that if Zephyr had any chance of survival, they needed to first determine the fate of Castle Svelte and the Chamber of the Wise. With no time to waste, they decided that Pollard and Yarstaff would accompany Rook to check on the state of King Malcolm, while Sadyra and Olmar escorted Alhena to Gritian.
Thorr agreed to remain in port to provide extra security for the region, working in conjunction with Wendglow’s people to protect the bay area and its people from further attack, and more importantly, to begin the rebuilding process.
Alhena clasped Wendglow’s human hand in a firm handshake as several people stood on the same twisted jetty Olmar had rowed them to that first day back. The Voil elder gave him a sharp-toothed grin and a tight embrace.
Stepping back, Alhena waited for Thorr to say good-bye to Olmar.
“Take care of them, Olmar. Like you do, Gerrymander. You’ll be sorely missed, my plinth of a friend. Your road is sure to be fraught with peril.”
“Ach!” Olmar said, slapping the captain on the back, nearly knocking him off his feet. “They’ll never get by Olmar, cap’n.”
Thorr caught himself and looked up at his giant helmsman. “Woe betide anyone foolish enough to try.”
Olmar slapped him again.
“Alhena, my good friend.” Thorr turned to clasp his hand. “We’ve known each other for less than two months, yet it feels like a lifetime.”
Alhena leaned on his staff. “Aye. Close relationships are forged fast in desperate times.”
“It’s been an honour sailing with you, kind sir. If it pleases you, give my regards to Vice-Chambermaster Solomon. He and I were once great mates, if you can believe that?”
Alhena inclined his head. “Is that so? And what happened to change that?”
“Lugubrius happened. I was sent to help rebuild Zephyr’s fleet, while good ol’ Solomon, being as smart as he is, took up with the Chamber.”
“Hmm. Interesting, indeed,” Alhena replied.
Olmar swaggered over and slapped Alhena on the back. It was all Alhena could do not to yelp. “The Bay’s in good hands with Cap’n Thorr around. The city’s safer’n a lion’s cub, and that’s sure.”
Alhena staggered forward a step. He ran his tongue along his teeth to ensure none were loose.
“Easy Olmar,” Thorr cautioned his eccentric first mate. “You forget your strength.”
The captain pulled Alhena in for an embrace, and whispered, “Be careful, my friend. I hear things aren’t as they seem in the Chamber these days.”
Alhena broke the embrace, but kept his voice low, nodding his agreement. “Aye. Who told you?”
Thorr hesitated before answering, “The Enervator, if you can believe that?”
“Avarick? Really?”
“Aye. He also told me about your recent fallout with the Chamber. I believe he was concerned about how the Chambermaster would receive you should we make it back.”
Alhena raised his eyebrows, wondering whether Avarick had told the captain how they had deceived Baron Lychman into ordering the Gerrymander to assist the quest. “There was more to that man than he let on.”
Olmar folded his arms and nodded his agreement. “The ‘eart of a tiger, that one.”
Alhena nodded. “Aye. I have known him for years. A real terror in his day. Something happened to him during his time with Silurian. Everyone thought the Chamber had sent him to keep an eye on Silurian, but in hindsight, I do not believe that to be true. In the end, he turned out okay.”
At the mention of Silurian, everyone fell quiet until Pollard traipsed up with Sadyra and Yarstaff in tow. When the huge man neared Alhena, the messenger sidestepped out of reach.
Sadyra stepped between the two, her hair pulled back tight and tucked beneath her slate grey, suede archer’s cap, the colour highlighting her storm-grey eyes. She curtsied. “I’m ready, Master Sirrus.”
Alhena smiled at the pretty young girl with many freckles. “You can just call me Alhena. Any luck with the horses?
Her smile faded. “No, Master Sirrus. There are none to spare.”
“Alhena,” he corrected her. “Alas, it is as we thought.”
Sadyra offered him a sly smile. “Aye, Master Sirrus.”
Flustered, Alhena said to the captain, “Well, I guess this is it. May God be with you, captain.”
“Aye, if He can spare the time. I’m thinking He has more pressing matters to attend at the moment.” Thorr embraced Alhena again. “Keep your eyes open, my friend. These are strange times. Be sure to look after the lug.” The captain’s eyes indicated his bandy-legged helmsman.
Alhena spit out a laugh. “I do not believe I need worry about Olmar. I will be hard-pressed protecting them from him.”
Rook’s voice startled him as he watched the captain make his way back to an awaiting skiff. “Sadyra tells me they can’t spare horses. Even for one as aged as you.”
He scowled at Rook, but saw the mischief in his eyes.
“Have you decided your route?”
“Aye. Knowing how Silurian and Avarick’s trip over Treacher’s Gorge went, I dare say we shall take the inland route. Cut down around The Muse and over.”
“Excellent, then we travel together a while longer,” Rook said. “At least until The Forke. Perhaps we’ll find mounts there. Are there any boats to be had?”
“Sunk. Every last one,” Pollard interjected. “We wouldn’t be able to get them past the Rivergate Bridge in any event.”
“Good point,” Rook said. He looked to the blue sky. “Well then, good messenger, it’s an excellent day for a walk.”
Following the trail along the southern bank of the mighty Madrigail River, the small company made their way east, into the mountains. Several times over the next few days, the path lifted into the heights, circumventing unpassable, frothy chasms. They ascended one of these stretches now, into the afternoon sun.
Pollard and Sadyra led the way, chatting amicably as they went. To Rook and Alhena trudging along behind, the two looked like father and child. Pollard in his bronzed cuirass, his sword sheathed across his back, and Sadyra clad in grey suede, her bow loosely carried in her right hand and her meagre selection of arrows rattling within the leather quiver hanging from her shoulder. Trailing behind them, Olmar waddled beside Yarstaff—the tall Voil barely reaching the sailor’s waist.
All around them, devastation wreaked by the firestorm was evident. Flakes of ash swirled about, caught on the breeze. Large treed sections were nothing but charred, smouldering tracts of barren ground littered with blackened stumps. The smell of burnt wood and death gagged them more times than they cared to remember.
Pollard smiled over his shoulder. “We should see the valley over the next rise.”
Sure enough, rounding a bend, the trail peaked. They stopped to take in the view.
Pollard’s shoulders slumped and his mouth dropped open.
He had made this trek several times, and on each occasion, he relished the moment the lush lands of Zephyr appeared below—brilliant golden hues of farmland
, stretching on forever. The rich blue of the Madrigail cutting a jagged line through vibrant green pastures; the fields dotted by solitary tors rising majestically above the rich tapestry.
Despite his faint hope, the land spread dull and black, clear to the horizon. Even the Madrigail appeared grey and lifeless below them—a reflection of the devastation.
Everyone stood motionless, in shock. Even Yarstaff, who had never set foot in Zephyr until four days ago. The firestorm had spread far beyond the Madrigail Bay area. Looking east, following the Madrigail River’s path to where the Frothe River joined it out of the north, they were able to make out the smoking ruins of The Forke.
“May God have mercy on their souls,” Alhena whispered.
Withdrawing his massive two-bladed weapon, Pollard rushed down the trail. The Forke was the largest town between Madrigail Bay and Millsford. If it had suffered the same damage as Madrigail Bay, he feared over three thousand people may have lost their lives.
“Pollard. It’s too late,” Sadyra called after him.
“You never know!” his booming voice came back.
The others looked at Sadyra.
She shook her head. “The Forke is two days from here. He probably means to run the entire way. What an oaf.”
Together, they tromped after him.
A day and a half later, Pollard stood in The Forke town centre, his sword loosely in hand, staring at the stone well—the only structure in the town left unscathed. Other than the stench of rotting corpses, there was no trace of the town’s inhabitants.
Alhena, Yarstaff, and Rook stood with him, watching Sadyra and Olmar approach from the eastern part of the city.
The female archer, her clothing dark with sweat, her hair disheveled and sprinkled with ash, walked up to the well with a resigned look on her face.
“No one alive that way,” she said, taking in their empty expressions. “I gather the same holds true in every quarter.
Pollard stared at the ground. He chewed his lips in a futile attempt to keep his emotions in check. A tear rolled down his cheek.
Rook muttered, “Not a soul.”
Sadyra stepped beside Pollard, throwing an arm around his lower back. “Come on, big guy. It’s not all bad. There’s signs of a mass migration along West Castle Road. If I had to guess, I’d say the survivors made their way toward the king.”
Pollard sniffed. “What about the bodies? We can’t just leave them like this.”
Sadyra gave the others a sad smile. “There’s nothing here for us but death and disease. It’ll take us too much time to gather all the bodies and burn them. If you want to help, you must get Rook to King Malcolm. Midge,” she looked at Olmar, “and I, will see Alhena to the Chamber. We can’t undo what’s been done, but together, we might have a say in what’s to come.”
The big man’s shoulders straightened. Just a bit.
“Come on, you big softie. Get your arse moving. Don’t keep the king waiting.” She elbowed Rook, winking, and smiled up at Pollard. “And guess what?”
Pollard gave her a quizzical stare.
She waved a hand in front of her face and turned up her nose. “The bridge to West Castle Road is out, which is a good thing. It’s high time you had a bath.”
Pollard sheathed his sword, his eyes moist and red. He tried to smile, but it wouldn’t come.
On top of everything else they saw today, Sadyra knew Pollard hated good-byes.
“You still travelling west of the Muse?” Rook asked Alhena.
Alhena nodded. “Sadyra wishes to follow Millsford Road. We will stop by Splendoor Falls to inform Master Pul. From there, it is an easy jaunt down the Olde Gritian Road, around the bottom of the Muse.”
“Be sure to stay clear of Torpid Marsh,” Rook cautioned.
“I am certain Sadyra will ensure our course is true. I have little desire to encounter anything in that forsaken place.”
Sadyra punched and hugged Pollard. “Take care of this big lummox.”
Rook smiled. “No worries there. I’ll be hard-pressed to get my own blows in before he deals with whatever is foolish enough to come against us.”
Alhena stepped up to the big man, offering his hand, afraid of what was to come as a result.
Pollard gave him a half-hearted smile, grabbed his hand and pulled him in for an excruciating embrace.
Alhena feared his ribs would crack, but there was nothing to do until the giant released him.
Thankfully, Sadyra intervened. “Easy, you big oaf. You’re gonna suffocate Alhena.”
Pollard released him.
Alhena stepped free and turned to clutch Rook’s hands. “You take great care, my friend. You have been through a lot in the last while. We all have, but you especially. We need you strong.” He looked around at the devastation. “I fear this is only the beginning.”
“Thank you, Alhena. For everything. If not for you, Silurian might never have been found.”
“I don’t believe I did him any favours,” Alhena whispered.
“Nonsense. You gave him back his life, even if it was only for a short while. You gave him a chance to be whole again. I’m sure he appreciated what you did for him. I know I do.”
Sadyra interrupted and gave Rook a hug and peck on the cheek. “Take good care of yourself, Bowman. I hope our paths cross again.”
“You too, Sadyra. I rest assured knowing my friend,” he nodded to Alhena, “is in excellent hands. Good luck keeping up with him.”
Sadyra laughed and turned to Olmar and Yarstaff.
The muscular Voil was almost as tall as her shoulder. His big eyes looked shyly at the ground, but Olmar’s hand propelled him forward with such force that Sadyra had to catch the odd creature to keep him from knocking her over.
“Go on, ya ugly beastie, ‘tis only a wee lassie. Ye needn’t be a feared.”
Yarstaff untangled himself and looked away.
Sadyra glanced at Olmar. “Is he always this quiet?”
Olmar guffawed. “’ardly, missy. Shy about the lasses, I be thinkin’, eh beastie?”
Yarstaff proffered an orange-furred hand to Sadyra. The Voil was unique amongst his kind, being the only one possessing two human hands and two human feet.
Sadyra shook Yarstaff’s hand. “You are in excellent company. If that big lummox there gives you any guff, bite his knee.” She bent and kissed Yarstaff’s furry forehead.
Yarstaff lifted his eyes long enough to peer at her, the tiniest of smiles lighting up his face.
Olmar accepted Pollard’s meaty handshake and pulled him into a quick embrace. “Don’t ye worry, Pollard. Yer a bigger man than the lot of us.” He held the Songsbirthian guard at arm’s length. “Despite Avarick’s kiddin’, ye are even bigger than me. Ya listenin’ t’ what I’s a-tellin’ ya?”
Pollard forced the semblance of a smile past his trembling bottom lip.
Alhena went to grab his rucksack from beside the well, but Pollard snatched him off his feet.
Tears ran freely down Pollard’s cheeks. “I’m sorry Alhena. I tried to save Silurian. I tried so hard…” His words became unintelligible.
Alhena shushed him. “There was nothing anyone could have done. Only Silurian was strong enough to enter the river. You allowed him to do what had to be done. If you hadn’t kept the demons off his back, we would all be dead. He chose his fate. He wouldn’t have had it any other way. Your bravery gave him the time he needed to fulfill an insatiable desire that had eaten at him for twenty years. There is no blame for what happened. Events went way beyond our control.”
Sadyra came to Alhena’s rescue again, prying the big man away from him and holding Pollard until he got himself under control.
As the two groups parted ways, Sadyra, Olmar and Alhena followed the Madrigail River southeast along Millsford Road, while Rook, Pollard and Yarstaff disappeared into the ruined city along a debris-strewn road that would lead them to where the West Castle Road branched away.
The group’s parting was one of the sadd
est events Alhena had ever witnessed. An utterly dejected Pollard dragged his feet along the ash-covered ground, shoulders slumped and head hung low. It had taken the senseless death in The Forke to finally crack Pollard’s shell.
Alhena sighed. Moving forward, it was for the best, but he hated leaving his friend in such a state.
Sadyra placed one arm around Alhena’s shoulders, and her other, halfway around Olmar’s waist, propelling them forward. “Come on, old man. I think this is the point where you start imparting to us your ancient wisdoms. You know, how things were different back in your day. How our generation doesn’t appreciate the value of hard work and respect, and all that crap.”
Alhena shot her a look.
Olmar’s throaty laugh disturbed the unnatural stillness in The Forke. “Aye, Pops, tell us a story.”
Together the bizarre trio started along the Millsford Road. A young, female archer, clad in grey, a giant, bandy-legged sailor whose girth was twice that of the other two combined, and an old man who looked like a wizard.
Into the Gap
Silurian couldn’t help staring at his sister in the early morning light. He and Melody had stayed up late into the night discussing the recent events that had brought them to this point. He was deeply saddened by the news of Zephyr’s demise. After everything the quest had gone through—all the hardship and death—their efforts had been for naught. He felt hollow inside. Like someone had kicked him in the stomach. The only thing keeping him from losing his precarious grip on his sanity was the miracle lying alongside the cave wall.
He lay on his side, head propped up, watching her. He couldn’t get enough. Twenty-three years of mental anguish had palpably eased itself from his soul, dulling the pain of the people left behind in the Under Realm. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he wanted to live again, if only to keep her safe. The memories of their youth swelled his chest, filling him with a pride he hadn’t known in a long time. The weeks they had spent destitute and alone on Mount Cinder seemed like yesterday. He fancied a final run-in with a troll might just make his life complete.
The Wizard of the North Page 4
